


jaws that crack the bones the lion leaves

by Llama1412



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Allegory, Feral Ciri, Gen, Songwriting, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24799927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Jaskier writes a song about the Slaughter of Cintra.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	jaws that crack the bones the lion leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ernest Hemingway’s _Green Hills of Africa_.

“Part of a bard’s job,” Jaskier told Ciri, “is to record and spread history.”

“What, by singing gross inaccuracies?” Geralt snorted and Jaskier threw his notebook at the Witcher’s head. 

Geralt, the fucker, ducked.

“Anyway,” Jaskier said loudly and curled his arm around Ciri’s shoulder to move away from Geralt – and his poor abandoned notebook, “the way we do that is through stories. Because people remember stories – even if they don’t remember what the words are, they remember what it made them feel.”

“Okaaaaay,” Ciri drew the word out, tone laced with doubt.

“All right, how would you share the story of Nilfgaard’s attack on Cintra?” Jaskier asked.

“I…” Ciri’s forehead wrinkled. “I guess I’d talk about how horrible,” she swallowed and cleared her throat, “what they did was.”

Jaskier squeezed her shoulder. “That’s one way. And that’s important, too. When you feel ready to share it, I think you should. But some stories are harder to share than others, especially when they’re personal. So what story do you tell when you’re not ready to talk about the horrors you experienced?”

Ciri shrugged and Jaskier smiled softly at her. 

“Well, one way is through allegory! Translating a story into something that’s a little easier to digest, but still has the same meaning. This is the style that fits me,” Jaskier said. “So instead of telling the story of the Fall of Cintra, I would form a story about – hmm, maybe a pack of hyenas who overthrow a lion pride.”

“What?” Ciri’s voice was accompanied by Geralt’s low growl.

“No no no, think about it.” Jaskier said. “Everyone associates Cintra with lions, so that one’s only natural. And there aren’t a lot of predators that can take down a lion, _but_ hyenas kill lion cubs for sport!”

Ciri flinched minutely and crossed her arms. “Lions are still better.”

Jaskier grinned, “of course they are! This is not a story about the might of hyenas. It’s a story about loss and grief. And maybe hope.” He booped her on the nose with the last word. “All good stories have a kernel of hope. It’s what makes life worth living.”

He began to pluck at his lute, just simple chords to give the story a backdrop.

_The lioness guarded her pride_

_with sharp teeth and vicious claws._

_She fought with every stride_

_And ne’er forced to withdraw_

_But along came the cruel, vicious hyena,_

_Who wanted to be the mightiest of all._

_And so he called her to the arena_

_Then summoned his friends for a brawl._

_They clashed and they lashed_

_And they ripped and they stripped_

_Until none but blood remained_

_And the lioness was drained._

_She fought, but the foe did overtake_

_The army of hyenas was endless_

_And left naught but dead in their wake._

_The pride’s fall was horrendous._

_And so began a new age,_

_Naught of mighty lions or pride_

_But rather a dauntless cage_

_That creeps like looming blight_

_So listen close and beware,_

_For hyenas march onward with cheer_

_To gnash and gnaw on your children’s hair_

_And leave blood dripping down your ear._

_Hyena best beware, though_

_For with the lioness’ last wrothful breath_

_A curse she did throw_

_For hyena to follow soon in death_

Jaskier finished his last note with a flourish. For an on-the-spot composition, he felt he’d done rather well, but Ciri’s face was devastated and her breath coming in sobs. Geralt stared at him with anger and disbelief, his hands clasped on Ciri’s shoulders. Jaskier suddenly remembered that this was more than just a story. This was Ciri’s reality and he’d just made a jaunty, dark tune out of the worst day of her life.

“Oh Ciri, I’m so sorry,” Jaskier reached out to touch her arm before thinking better of it.

“No,” Ciri drew in a great heaving breath and dragged her fists over her face. “No, you should sing it. People need to know. They need to know that that my people were brutalized for no reason.” She took gasping breaths between words, tears still streaming down her face. “And Nilfgaard needs to know. They need to know that we won’t forget. I won’t _let_ anyone forget. When the Emperor’s blood drips off my blade, he will know _exactly_ why he dies,” Ciri swore with a ferocity that forcefully reminded Jaskier that this was the granddaughter of the Lioness.

“I will play it everywhere I go,” he vowed solemnly.

“Ciri, you can’t torture yourself like that,” Geralt squeezed her shoulder.

  
“Yes I can!” She rounded on him, “I’m already tortured! I was _there._ And if I must live with that, then I damn well demand that everyone else should too!”

**Author's Note:**

> Poetry is hard!!! But I think I pulled something decent together?


End file.
